Tag Archives: Pride

“Giants isn’t eating each other either, the BFG said. Nor is giants killing each other. Giants is not very lovely, but they is not killing each other. Nor is crockadowndillies killing other crockadowndillies. Nor is pussy-cats killing pussy-cats.

‘They kill mice,’ Sophie said.

‘Ah, but they is not killing their own kind,’ the BFG said. ‘Human beans is the only animals that is killing their own kind.'”-Rold Dahl, The BFG

This morning I was sitting in the grass in Logan Circle enjoying the feeling of a strong summer breeze on my skin, the sight of fluttering green leaves changing color under the sun, a good book (The BFG, hence the above quote) and a good coffee when I was overwhelmed by gratefulness for my place in such a beautiful world. Strung out on too much sun, too little water, and the imminent threat of my period, I fought back tears, happy to have a life where I get to enjoy and revel in such simple, beautiful moments.
A minute later I checked my phone and saw a Facebook notification that an old coworker had checked in as safe in Orlando. Chills went trough me. Something terrible had happened. As we do in this digital age, I took to the internet for answers to read about a devastating shooting in a nightclub. Tears, again, this time of sadness and rage. Horrified, I read that it was the deadliest shooting in US history. Over 100 people shot, over at least 50 dead. What’s more, it was a gay club, where hundreds of members of Orlando’s LBGTQ community had come for a night of revelry, of dancing, and of safety. But you know all this.

I haven’t come here to write some think piece about gun violence or acceptance/hate or terrorism. Those things are being written ad nauseum around the world (I think I can hear the keys of bloggers all across DC as they race to get their opinions into the tubes of the internet). Instead, on Pride Weekend in DC and in the face of a grave tragedy, I want to give thanks to the LGBTQ community.

It hit me today that in every hard, sad, or dangerous moment in my life, my Queer friends have always been the first responders; the ones to rescue me, to lift me up, or just to provide some moral support. My network of queer friends are the most kind, loving and generous people I know. They are the people whose relationships I look up to, whose capacity for love I simultaneously aspire to and envy. Here are just a few stories:

In college, on a night when an attempt to drown my depression in keg stands led to me sitting on a curb threatening to kill myself, a lesbian teammate got me back to my room safely and listened to me incoherently confess to being sexually assaulted as a freshman. She called my dad, whom I had rung in the night to say goodbye, and let him know I was safe.

The most caring and generous manager I’ve ever worked with is a gay man. He was endlessly patient with me, treated me like a peer (even as an intern) and provided me constant opportunities to learn and grow. To this day he still goes out of his way to give advice and to help me advance professionally.

Three months ago, I broke my arm. Two lesbian women from my hockey team brought me groceries (separately), asking for nothing in return. The same women constantly feed me, drive me places without asking for gas money, listen to me bitch about my trivial little life, and offer me so much incredible advice on it.

In these, and so many other individual moments with so many other queer friends, sexual orientation or gender identity was not a factor at all. I single it out now to say there is a clear pattern here. Over and over again, my queer friends put judgement aside and practice being loving, vulnerable and generous first.

From what I’ve read, Pulse, the nightclub where the shooting took place was another exemplar of the same practice:

In 1991, Barbara Poma’s older brother John died after battling AIDS. In 2004, Poma and her friend Ron Legler founded Pulse Orlando in memory of John. The name “Pulse” is derived from the idea of John’s heartbeat “reverberating throughout.” As a memoriam to her brother and safe space, the venue also served as the location for community events in support of the LGBT community.
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In John’s memory and in the memory of those who died at Pulse today, we must let their heartbeats continue on through acts of kindness toward one another to help love win over hate. (pulled from a friend’s Facebook post)

I see so much opportunity for those of us who sit in privilege in our society to learn from the LGBTQ community. Perhaps the upside of being marginalized, shut out and shown the ugly face of hate by so many is that it makes you that much more aware of the value of unabashed, unconditional love, of community building, of respect for the humanity of those around us. On this dark, dark day, I want to say thank you to my LGBTQ friends, and to all those I don’t know. I love you, and I admire you. I honor your commitment to loving publicly, living authentically and building community. I aspire to do as you do, bringing a little more light and optimism into the world.

After so many of you are done praying, let’s act to ensure that we create a light that overpowers darkness and hate, starting with lobbying our elected officials for policy change around guns and firearms.